Wyllowe: A Nymph
by Yma1
Summary: Due to tragedy, Wyllowe is forced to attend Hogwarts, and unlease powers she didn't even know she had...a tale of intruige, deception, and romance...implied R/H, no other certain pairings yet...rating for future chapters/safety
1. Wyllowe

She could hear her heels clicking on the cold wooden steps. The hall was so huge before her; she didn't know what to do with herself. It seemed unnecessary. Nevertheless, she sat at a table adorned with yellow. She sighed, but not in contentment or relaxation. She was tired and hungry, and scared all at the same time. She longed for the comfort of her home. She closed her eyes and could smell the fire burning in the hearth, and the thick wooly carpet under her feet. She could hear her dear mother's voice echoing in her head with her lessons. But suddenly, all at once, her dreaming was disturbed by a thousand students filing into the hall and chattering, the sounds only magnified to ridiculous levels by the cold stone echo chamber. So this was Hogwarts.  
  
Wyllowe had never been to school with other children before. She had never really even been around them, as she never lived near enough to any village to have the chance. Her mother had taught her lessons in their small home deep in a rural forest. Wyllowe had never had much luxury, but her mother loved her and provided for her with her small Apothecary and Curiosities Shoppe in the nearest village. She traveled to the shop every Monday and Wednesday, leaving Wyllowe at home to do the more domestic tasks she couldn't. So Wyllowe had grown up strong and able, if somewhat unworldly. Many times when she ventured into town if Mother was sick or busy and in a lenient mood, Wyllowe had heard the term "beauty" tossed around in association with her name, but she never understood why. She was pleasant enough, that was for sure. However, she never thought herself a beauty. She was tall and slender, with pale skin that never did tan easily. Her hair fell around her shoulders and down her back in sheets of gold, but it was a horrible nuisance. She never could keep it out of things when she was working, and she wished it would at least have a bit of curl instead of the sleek strands that took forever to dry after bathing, and never stayed tied back due to their silky texture. Her eyes were dark, and her nose was straight, so Wyllowe wasn't concerned. At least she had no horrible deformities, and was able to learn and work. She had been happy with her small existence in the forest with her mother. They had their tiffs, but mostly worked in harmony and they loved one another. But last winter the cold had hit hard and Wyllowe's mother fell ill. She grew progressively sicker until she finally gave up, simply going to sleep and not waking up. Wyllowe knew that she was in trouble. When Wyllowe was learning her lessons, she had not just been learning reading, writing, and arithmetic. And the paper that came wasn't the local tribune, and they did not use e- mail or the post. Wyllowe and her mother were descended from a long line of magic. She wasn't a wizard, fully. Her father had been a great wizard, but he had died in an accident with some Muggle friends, boating or some other terrible Muggle fixation. Her mother, however, had been a wood nymph; so Wyllowe, although a witch as well, had the ability to speak with trees and sometimes the occasional flower, and could ask the trees to do her bidding. As soon as her mother died, Wyllowe immediately sent an owl to her paternal aunt, whom she had never seen, but had always been told to contact in case of an emergency. Wyllowe waited for two days before her long-lost family showed up at her door. Before she knew what was happening, Wyllowe was living with a strange group of relatives in a large suburban city, and it was agreed that she should be sent to Hogwarts. 


	2. Sorting

Wyllowe jumped up from her table, hurriedly smoothing her hair and skirt. She stood very tall and straight, her worn carpetbag over one shoulder, looking very raggedy in her patched green broom-skirt and russet jacket. Students rushed past her, some barely glancing in her direction, and some staring blatantly as they passed her. Most of them seemed to know where they were going, but a medium sized group of younger children clung together in the back of the hall. Wyllowe figured they must be "first years" from what Aunt Gladys had told her. Wyllowe sighed. She knew she would look out of place as a sixteen-year-old standing amongst the young children, but she also knew it was her only reasonable option. She would have to be sorted. Aunt Gladys had practically bubbled over in excitement trying to explain all the fun Wyllowe would have at Hogwarts. Aunt Gladys had wanted to take Wyllowe shopping for new dress robes and things, but there had been no time, so she had just taken some of her older cousin's things left over from his days at Hogwarts, and some old dress robes of Aunt Gladys's. Her cheeks growing red, Wyllowe walked through the groups of teenagers her own age; she went to stand with the group of eleven-year- olds.  
  
Before Wyllowe had been standing with the group five minutes, a large man came and shuffled the children off to a separate table . . . however, he put one of his large hands on her shoulder and motioned for her to wait. She stood stock still, not sure what she was doing. After the gigantic bearded man had the first years settled, he came back to where Wyllowe was standing.  
  
"Yer Wyllowe Burtaine?" he asked.  
  
"Yes . . . yes I am," she said timidly, taking a step back.  
  
"Well I'm Hagrid, the gameskeeper here at Hogwarts . . . " he was saying, when Wyllowe's eyes began to fill with tears. She brought one delicate hand to her face, trying to conceal the tears, but this "Hagrid" had seen. He knelt down beside her, putting him at about her height.  
  
"Darling, what's wrong? You can tell me, I'm no stranger to tears meself . . . "Hagrid said, but Wyllowe wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket and smiled half-heartedly. She turned her bright eyes to Hagrid.  
  
"Thank you, sir, I'm fine. I just am not sure what I am supposed to be doing right now," she said, straining to keep her voice steady. Hagrid nodded, and stood.  
  
"Well, I think we're going to put you at the beginning of the Sorting, so you can sit at your table with the ones your own size. I'll point out someone nice fer you ter sit with . . . don't you worry none, missy . . ." he reassured her, patting her shoulder, nearly causing her to topple over.  
  
As Hagrid said, the Sorting started very quickly. The hat sang a horrific song, all sang in a trembling falsetto. The whole hall clapped wildly, a sound much louder than Wyllowe had ever heard in her quiet upbringing. A stern-looking woman stepped forward and smiled thinly to the two redheaded boys at the crimson-adorned table that were still (humorously) clapping as she turned to face the audience. She unrolled a long roll of parchment, which immediately snapped into a straight piece and levitated in front of her.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Weasley. I'm sure you're very excited as it is your last year at Hogwarts . . . lets not forget about the reasons you're still here, shall we?" the woman said, raising an eyebrow at the identical red haired boys. The boys' faces flushed and they shook their heads, but as soon as the woman looked back to her parchment, the boys both began to guffaw uncontrollably. The stern woman paid no attention, but began to shout a name.  
  
"Wyllowe Burtaine . . . " she yelled. Wyllow's face blanched, and she walked stiffly to the front of the hall. As she passed the tables, she heard murmurs and whispers, even a few whistles.  
  
"Awfully developed for a first year, isn't she?" a menacing looking young man with spiked white blond hair and two small silver hoops in each ear said silkily as she passed. When she turned crimson red and crossed her arms over her chest, the boys around him began to laugh, but he continued to stare.  
  
"As many of you may have noticed, Miss Burtaine is not a first year, but she has been taught at home since she was very young, and will be joining the sixth year class for her remaining time in Hogwarts. I expect that whatever house she joins will be glad to have her." the woman yelled across the gossiping students. Wyllowe picked up the hat from the chair and sat down daintily. She placed it gently on her head, and a voice began to whisper as if it was in her very brain.  
  
"Hmmm . . . strange case indeed . . . " the voice intoned, "you're going to be here for your sixth year. A pretty young lady with talents somewhat different from many of the students here. A wood nymph. Very special indeed. I see you have the power to manipulate the trees, some flowers . . . even people, although it has gone unpracticed in your years of solitude. Slytherin enjoys that kind of company. But you also have an undeniable streak for learning in you . . . a thirst to know more. Ravenclaw could nurture that. I think . . . " but the voice paused, and Wyllowe thought she could hear hesitation, "no. I will not put you in Ravenclaw or Slytherin. You are destined to do more than these two houses can help you with. You are lion-hearted. I see you didn't cry when your mother or father died. And I see you live with a family you dislike, but you wish to protect them. You have a strong heart." Wyllowe thought the hat was done; perhaps it had gotten confused, and couldn't sort her, but would send her back home, away from the chaos and bustle of this school. But no such luck.  
  
"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted, and the whole hall laughed as Wyllowe jumped at the sudden sound. However, a whole table jumped to their feet and applauded. As Wyllowe took the hat off of her head and collected herself, she saw the stern woman speak to a girl with her chestnut hair streaked brilliantly blond and in a complicated updo. The girl nodded, and skipped to meet Wyllowe as she went to sit at the Gryffindor table.  
  
"Hi!" the girl said cheerily over the rest of the Sorting noise, "my name is Lavender Brown . . . let me get you settled in." 


	3. Gryffindors

Before Wyllowe could even begin to introduce herself the way she thought a normal teenage girl would, Lavender had latched onto Wyllowe's wrist and was dragging her to sit with a gaggle of girls at the end of the Gryffindor table. She fussed around for a bit, and eventually made Wyllowe sit between a very pretty exotic looking girl and herself.  
  
"All right then, so your name is Wyllowe?" said Lavender. Her lavender eyes, which Wyllowe assumed were her namesake, sparkled underneath a gaudy layer of pink glitter that matched her pretty glittering barrettes. Wyllowe tried to smile.  
  
"Yes," she said in an attempted confident voice, which just ended up sounding quiet. The girl next to her swished her long dark hair behind her shoulder and extended a hand, a slight smirk on her face, but not an unkind one,  
  
"My name is Parvati Patil. Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. Her tone was that of a superior, and Wyllowe decided right then and there that Parvati was the kind of person one proved themself to. Across from Lavender, Parvati, and Wyllowe was a girl who posessed a sort of ethereal beauty, compliments of her halo of strikingly red hair and porcelain skin. She smiled kindly, one of the truer smiles Wyllowe had recieved.  
  
"My name is Ginny . . . Ginny Weasley..."  
  
"She's the baby of the group . . . just a baby fifth year..." Lavender interrupted jokingly.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm the baby," Ginny giggled, "if you need anything, Wyllowe, I'm sure I could help you." The other girl in this tight-knit group was not really even paying much attention to the very feminine fluster over the newest addition to the clique. Instead, she was grinning wildly, deep in conversation with two boys who were also quite obviously oblivious to the male pandemonium going on to their immediate right. Parvati shook her magnificent head, and slung one arm over a rather violated-feeling Wyllowe while she motioned to the laughing curly headed girl.  
  
"Hermione Granger," she said, as if simply the name was exasperating. Lavender rolled her eyes, giggling.  
  
"You'll never catch her without Harry and Ron, especially Ron . . . " she laughed, jerking her head in the boys' direction. Parvati dissolved into giggled and finally removed her arm from Wyllowe's shoulder to lean back and give Lavender a high-five for a statement that was obviously witty, although Wyllowe didn't quite understand why.  
  
"Don't pay any attention to these two little sirens," a clear, crisp voice stated from out of the blue. Wyllowe turned, and found a pair of crystalline blue eyes staring at her from under perfectly arched brows. Hermione Granger stood up, leaned across the table and stuck out her hand. Wyllowe took it gingerly, but Hermione's handshake was firm and no- nonsense.  
  
"My name, as aforementioned, is Hermione Granger," she stated, "what is yours?"  
  
"W..Wyllow. Uh . . . Burtaine." Wyllowe stammered, intimidated by this seemingly dauntless girl. Hermione sat down. She made a pointed look at Ron and Harry, who had noticed Wyllowe for the first time and were openly staring, Ron's jaw a little slack. Hermione smiled, revealing perfect white teeth.  
  
"Yes, boys, she's very pretty . . . Ron, darling, you're drooling . . . " she quipped, leaning over the table as if to wipe something off the red haired boy's chin. He leaned back before she could touch him, and she and the dark haired boy burst into boisterous laughter.  
  
"Geroff! Jesus, Hermione, can't you leave me alone for a second? I was watching . . . uh, the stupid gits in Slytherin or something . . . " he said, trailing off and blushing cazily. The boy with the thatch of dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses stood up and gestured for Parvati to switch him place, to which the red head said "hey! not fair!" and sulked across the table. With a quick grin in the other boy's direction, the dark haired boy turned to Wyllowe, who cast her eyes down demurely.  
  
"Hi. My name's Harry," he said softly, "and you're Wyllowe, I'm assuming? Good, now that we've got that out of the way, the bumbling idiot over there is Ron Weasley, and . . . "  
  
"I," a voice interrupted from behind them, "am Draco Malfoy, the most important man you will meet here at Hogwarts . . . my sincerest greetings." 


	4. Dormitories

"Bugger off, Malfoy," Ron said coldly. This "Malfoy" simply grinned at Wyllowe. He took two strides toward the table, and shoved Harry to the side. He took Wyllowe's small hand in his. Harry had begun to fume, and was fumbling around in his robe pockets, undoubtedly for his wand. Before Harry could do anything, however, Draco swiftly pulled out his own wand and deftly shot a spell at Harry that taped his mouth shut with duct-tape, Malfoy's grey eyes never leaving Wyllowe. He grinned.  
  
"That's a little American trick I learned in the States this year," he added with a sly wink. Wyllowe couldn't speak. She was shocked beyond words. This boy, although seemingly mischievous, was incredibly intriguing. His face was eye-catching, with finely chiseled features that were almost pretty, but he still managed to look masculine. His hair was the lightest white blonde, and he had multiple piercing in each ear, and one in his eyebrow.  
  
"Nice, Malfoy," came Harry's voice from behind them. Somehow he had rid himself of the tape, and was ready to hit Malfoy with a spell himself. However, Malfoy jumped up and scuttled out of the way, making a dramatic motion towards the seat beside Wyllow.  
  
"Be my guest, Potter, by all means we know you have a ton of luck with the ladies," he said, punctuating the comment with a sarcastic laugh. Then he turned to Wyllowe.  
  
"I'll see you later, I expect," he said simply. He turned and walked away. Harry reclaimed his seat by Wyllowe, even though Ron had jumped up and tried to cross over the table.  
  
"He just never gets any better, does he? Stupid prick," Hermione said to the other girls in exasperation. Parvati, however, giggled.  
  
"Oh, but isn't he just as sexy as can be?" she queried the table. All the girls burst out talking at once, and Wyllowe caught phrases ranging from "such a rebel" to "I hear he has ten piercings and four tattoos total." Hermione sighed.  
  
"Hopeless, the lot of you," she muttered as the girls began talking about other boys in depth.  
  
"Sorry about that, Wyllowe, Malfoy has a big problem with me, I guess," Harry apologized, searching Wyllowe's face for any sign of what she was thinking.  
  
"I'd suppose so," was all Wyllowe said. Harry was right; the boy had a mean- streak, and didn't seem to be the "right" type of boy that Aunt Gladys kept telling her she should look for. Draco was most definitely the "wrong" type of boy, but something about him awakened a feeling in her that she hadn't experienced in her countrified life: a feeling of rebellion. In the midst of Wyllowe's thoughts, Hermione stood.  
  
"Well Wyllowe, I'd assume you'll want to see the whole of Hogwarts, since all you've seen as of yet is The Great Hall. If you'd like, I'll take you up to the Gryffindor common room and get you settled in," Hermione offered.  
  
"Actually, that would be wonderful," Wyllowe responded, standing up and grabbing her bags. Ron jumped up and started to mumble something about taking her bags, but Hermione cut him off.  
  
"Ron, don't be such an egotistic asshole. I'm sure Wyllowe can carry her own bags, and I'm sure that although your extremely he-man efforts to help are flattering, Wyllowe has had plenty of male attention already," she said sternly, and walked off towards the back of the hall, assuming Wyllowe would follow.  
  
Wyllowe smiled at red-faced Ron, and trotted after Hermione. After a series of twists and turns, going up staircases only to go back down even longer ones, and going down numerous halls, they arrived in front of a painting. In the painting was a very fat lady in a pink dress. Standing in front of the painting was a serious-looking girl with small glasses and her hair pulled back severely. "Hello, Hermione. Welcome back. The password is 'odious moron' till further notice," she said, "and good luck with your classes this year." The girl gave Hermione a prim smile, which Hermione returned. Once Hermione and Wyllowe had climbed through the painting, Hermione let out a menacing noise and flopped in a cushy scarlet chair.  
  
"That," she said to Wyllowe, who was going to join her, "is Elitza Maran. She is a prefect this year, and is my biggest competition for Head Girl next year." "Head Girl?" Wyllowe asked, sitting on the edge of an overstuffed sofa.  
  
"Yes, the girl and boy who have the best grades and are model students and citizens in the wizarding world get to be Head Girl and Boy. And pay no attention to the nasty names and connotations associated with the title, it is a very prestigious honor, to be sure," Hermione finished rapidly, jumping up. She crossed the room to a door labeled with a crimson stick figure of a girl that Wyllowe had seen on the door of Muggle restrooms. "This is the girl's side . . . let's find our dormitories."  
  
"All right," Wyllowe agreed, grabbing up her bags and parcels. She followed Hermione through the door, only to find another mahogany staircase with rich red carpeting. A list was posted at the bottom of the stairs.  
  
"Shit! Would you look at that?" Hermione cried, once she had read a small paragraph at the top of the parchment tacked to the wall, "It says that there are an abundance of first years and so fifth, sixth, and seventh years will all be mixed up in room assignments. Well how do you like that? Looks like I'm with Parvati and Lavender, but you're catty-cornered from us with Ginny . . . you two will get along just fine. Follow me, and I'll show you what to do," Hermione instructed, peering at the list. The two girls tramped up the stairs and walked halfway down a hall before Hermione stopped and looked at a nameplate on the door.  
  
"Yes, this is it. Wyllowe Burtaine, Kylie Isles, Portia London, and Virginia Weasley," she read, and opened the door for Wyllowe. Wyllowe stepped into a light, airy room painted stark white with two sets of bunkbeds, two vanities, and two bureaus. The beds had curtains around them, and lamps on the wall they were against, and were dressed in all-white bedding. She sat her bags by the closest bed. "Wyllowe, I'm going to jet down to my room and set up my things . . . pictures and such, you know, but I will come back to get you before anything else goes on. Oh, and you should put up any pictures or posters now before the other girls attack the room, and you might want to set out all your makeup and haircare items on the vanity now too. Girls are vicious for space, you might as well 'stake your claim,'" Hermione said, and skipped of out the room and down the hall.  
  
Wyllowe stood alone in the bare room. She placed her bag on the bottom bunk of her chosen bed, and began to unpack. She placed her clothing in the drawers, her toothbrush, hairbrush, and chapstick on the vanity, and piled her schoolbooks on top of the bureau. She pulled out an aged photo in a simple wood frame and placed it in front of the books. The picture showed Wyllowe as a young girl with her mother and her father, all waving and hugging. She smiled in spite of herself, and slid her carpetbag under the bed. Wyllowe sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. This would be her own private space for the next two years. She sighed and took off her out-of- date boots with the spiked heels. They were the only shoes her aunt could find in her size, and they killed her feet. She drew her legs up into the bunk and shut the curtain around her. She felt a sudden change in the room, and heard the door open.  
  
"Hermione?" she called, swishing open the curtain and expecting the smiling, bushy-haired girl. Instead, a smooth-faced black girl looked back at her. Ginny Weasley appeared behind this new girl.  
  
"Oh, hi Wyllowe. This is Portia London, she's in fifth year with me. Portia, this is Wyllowe, she's just transferred," Ginny explained. Portia grinned at Wyllowe, showing crooked white teeth. She was tall and gangly, her elbows sticking out all over the place, and she bumped into everything in the room before settling in the opposite bunk. Ginny glanced at Wyllowe and smiled.  
  
"Would you mind if I shared a bunk with you?" she asked, motioning to the top section of Wyllowe's bunk bed.  
  
"No, no, not at all," Wyllowe answered, attempting a warm smile. Ginny grinned back, and began to unpack. Portia and Ginny began to chat about student with names Wyllowe didn't recognize. About five minutes into the conversation the door opened and another girl came in. She was short and wiry, with jet-black hair cut in a shaggy bob. She wore no makeup, but her face was covered in dense freckles. She looked to be several years younger than the other girls, but Portia laughed and ran to hug her.  
  
"Hey there! How are you, Kylie? I haven't seen you in ages, sweets! This is smashing . . . " she rambled on as Kylie unpacked her things and settled in to the bunk atop Portia's.  
  
"Yep, I'm psyched about my seventh year!" the tiny girl said, her voice matching her small physique. Wyllow couldn't believe she was the oldest in the group, since she looked to be the youngest. Nevertheless, these were her roommates, and she'd be spending the next year with them. She smiled to herself, and joined the conversation. 


	5. Talent

Portia and Kylie were already friends, and so began talking right away. Ginny, however, came to sit with Wyllowe.  
  
"Hi Wyllowe," she grinned, pulling her legs up to sit indian-style on Wyllowe's bunk. Wyllowe shifted her body towards Ginny.  
  
"Hi Ginny . . . you're a Weasley right?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah, and we do all have red hair, if that's what you're wondering," Ginny said, laughing with a twinkle in her eye; she had been asked so many times it was a just big joke to her anymore. Wyllowe, however, blushed crimson.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry Ginny . . . " she apologized softly, "I didn't mean to offend you in any way . . . " Ginny laughed again, and unexpectedly wrapped her arms around Wyllowe in a warm hug.  
  
"Calm down, you're very nervous, and there's no need to be . . . everyone is going to adore you, you'll see," she said. "Shall we go down to the common room and see what the boys are up to?" Wyllowe grinned and  
  
nodded, feeling as though she had found a friend. Ginny jumped up and grabbed her wand, shoved it in her pocket, and held the door open for Wyllowe, who followed her down to the common room.  
  
"So basically what you're saying is that Horatio Humperdink could be bested by your American Mike Tyson?" Fred was arguing loudly with his twin brother.  
  
"Well, I've been following this American chap and he seems to be more primal in his strategies . . . although I'll give you the fact that Horatio could just pull out his wand, and then who would be missing an ear?" George replied, his quick wit earning him laughter from the small group of boys gathered around him. Fred and George were identical twin boys, and were undoubtedly the heartthrobs of the upper class girls. They were both a bit more strapping than the regular sixth year boys were, but Wyllowe was sure she had heard something about how they should have graduated a year sooner. They were both darkly tanned, somehow, like Ginny, having either bypassed the "freckle gene" or having found some way to charm the freckles off. They were taller than Ron was, but leaner where Ron was muscled and built. Their eyes twinkled with merriment and laughter, and they were constantly in motion, either talking or enacting stories. George's hair was grown long (past his chin) and he wore it disheveled, managing to look slightly like a rock star, while Fred's hair was short and straight, making him look very clean cut. Ginny flopped down beside Harry, who punched her on the shoulder and hugged her, saying how long it had been since last they'd talked, although it had only been half an hour. Ginny laughed and rolled her eyes, motioning for Wyllowe to take a seat by her. Wyllowe sat down primly in a squashy red chair, but soon Ron Weasley and his two older brothers had come to crowd around her and introduce themselves rapidly. It was amazing that the twins were so tall, both standing about six foot six, when Ron and Ginny were both shorter than average. While Ginny's lack of height made her frame petite and pretty, Ron was muscle-bound in his shortness. He stood only about five foot seven or eight, but was rippling with muscle. He wasn't as deeply tanned from the summer as the twins and was covered in freckles. His blue eyes were clear, and his hair as flaming as his siblings were. "Ron Weasley," he said, his voice a rich bass, something Wyllowe hadn't noticed from earlier when Ron had been basically shrieking at Hermione. "Hello, I'm Wyllowe Burtaine, it's nice to meet you," Wyllowe said, blushing involuntarily. Fred and George looked at each other.  
  
"Such a lady!" George said to Fred in a falsetto. Fred and Ron laughed heartily, and Wyllowe timidly joined them. George bent down in front of Wyllowe's chair and took her hand.  
  
"I, madam, am George Weasley, esquire . . . " he said, but Fred hit him on the side of the head and took his place on the floor in front of Wyllowe, who was now laughing hysterically at this bravado of chivalry.  
  
"Pay no attention to the cad with the long hair. My name is Fred Weasley, at your service . . . " Fred said, finishing by planting a dramatic kiss on Wyllowe's hand. Wyllowe giggled as the boys got up, but before the conversation could go on, Hermione Granger walked over. She laced her arm through Ron's, and looked at Wyllowe somewhat coolly, silencing Wyllowe's hearty laughter.  
  
"Being funny, boys?" she asked, and smiled with a sudden flash of warmth in Ron's direction. Fred and George nodded sincerely. "Well, Lady Burtaine, we're going to go cheer up some lonely girls in the corner . . ." Fred said, pointing and winking at Parvati and Lavender from across the room. He nudged George in the arm, and they strode across the room. Hermione placed herself in front of Ron with her arms around his waist, and whispered in his ear. He tucked a strand of wildly curly hair behind her ear and left as well, making a small motion of farewell to Wyllowe.  
  
"Looking to be the next sexual conquest of the Weasley twins?" Hermione smirked at Wyllowe, "I don't care what you do with them...you certainly wouldn't be the first though." Hermione was now blatantly glaring at Wyllowe. Wyllowe simply blinked back in shock. "What? I was just chatting with all the boys . . . Ron was here too, you saw him . . . " she quietly jumped to her own defense. Hermione's eyes darkened and she smirked at Wyllowe and sat on the arm of her chair.  
  
"Here's the deal. I'm not a mean girl. Honestly, Wyllowe, I'm glad you're here, and I hope that we'll be friends. But Ron is . . . well, he's mine. I'm assuming that you aren't blatantly unintelligent, and that you can tell that girls easily influence Ron. And I don't want you telling Ron any of this either...he's not consciously aware of what's between us. But I care very much about him, and I have made it very clear to every bimbo in this school that he is mine. And as I've only been dated by a foreign exchange student a long time ago, and the last boy who asked me to a dance came to class the next day with a bloodied nose, I'd say that Ron has much the same bargain with the male population here. It is basically understood that we are together while neither of us actually admit it, so if you would please keep try to keep hold of your wits around Ron, I would appreciate it . . . " Hermione trailed off, searching Wyllowe's face. Something flared in Wyllowe's mind, an automatic need to defend herself. Something else flared too, but this wasn't in her head. It was a feeling much like she had experienced before. It was a tingling that began at the base of her neck. The muscles in her throat all became very relaxed as the tickly sensation ran across her shoulders and down her arms like something warm and cool at the same time running through her veins. Although the vibrations quickly subsided in her shoulders and arms, as soon as the tingling hit her hands it rested there, blazing stronger and almost harsh in the smooth tips of her fingers. She felt her body relax into the chair, giving up it's former rigid position. Her throat felt as if it were coated in honey and oils, sleek and warm at the same time. This was the same set of feelings that Wyllowe experienced every time she wanted a flower to glow a different color, or a tree to shade her from the rain. This was what made her different, her special gift. But she had never felt the strange severity of the sensations in her fingers, and instead of her voice feeling golden and smooth, it felt powerful and slick. She turned to face the girl who had delivered this candid speech, and placed one of her hands over Hermione's. Hermione suddenly jolted, and her blue eyes fixed on Wyllowe's swirling dark ones.  
  
"So how much did you say you like Ronald?" Wyllowe asked, her voice a polished whisper. Hermione's eyes glazed over for only a moment, enough for her to answer the question posed.  
  
"Why, not very much at all . . . " 


End file.
